


Project [Freelancer] Runway

by bismuthBallistics, red_as_ever



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Ensemble Cast, M/M, Minor D/S Undertones, There are a lot of characters but only the ones with real dialogue are tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bismuthBallistics/pseuds/bismuthBallistics, https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_as_ever/pseuds/red_as_ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delta is an up-and-coming designer competing for the chance to start his own fashion line. York is the model to whom he is assigned. It. . . goes about as well as could be expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Project [Freelancer] Runway

For the fifth time today, Delta reminded himself why he had come to the Parsons School of Design. “Welcome to Project Runway,” he whispered to himself. A veritable wealth of opportunity awaited, provided he could not only outdesign but put up with his competition. The first task might not be a problem. The second… seemed a bit more daunting.

Seven other designers scattered around the room, including such charming individuals as the chubby, curly-haired man in a light blue t-shirt currently in a shouting match with a taller woman in a worn aviator jacket. Delta bit his lip and twisted the cord of his pendant around an elegantly polished finger. He’d dressed to impress, as he’d assumed everyone would.

Like the man in the corner, who had introduced himself as Locus: while Locus had dressed formally in a black buttonup and green tie, he had introduced himself curtly and left the instant Delta had given him a cue. Now Locus too surveyed the room, though Delta was reasonably certain that his stare was far less creepy than Locus’s, and far more contemplative.

Grouped around a table at the end of the row, a group of four chatted intensely. Grey had introduced herself the instant Delta had walked through the door. Delta had just as quickly realized she was holding a pair of fabric scissors overly enthusiastically and excused himself. She had latched onto a plump, red-headed woman in army green and a small woman with a brown undercut. The three had cornered a hulking man in ripped jeans. He participated in their conversation by nodding, grunting affirmations or negations, and looking worriedly over at where the woman in the aviator jacket brandished a pincushion at the curly haired-man.

The doors crashed open, right next to the table where Delta perched. He jumped to his feet in alarm, reaching for his tablet, as a man flew in. “Good morning!” He chirped. Ah. This was Donut, the host of the show; Delta recognized the pink of both his jacket and the tips of his gelled hair. Somehow, Delta had not thought to prepare himself for the… in-person-ness, of his in-person enthusiasm. He steeled himself for the other man’s energy.

Donut waved to the room as the other designers turned to watch. “I’m your host; you can call me Donut. Now, I know all your names, of course, but the audience might not! If you could just gather here and introduce yourself as a group, we can get you the challenge and introduce you to the models. Now, who wants to go first?”

“Hello!” Grey darted over, followed by the rest of her group. Locus and the arguing pair followed suit. “My name is Emily Grey. I look forward to working alongside all of you!” 

“Niner.” The woman in the aviator jacket nodded at the cameraman, and the man in blue scoffed. She rounded on him. “Better name than ‘Church’, and I guarantee you that I’m not going to try and make a ballgown out of _spandex_.”

“It was an experiment!” Church protested, but Donut cut him off.

“Ap-bap-bap! Nooooo fighting. Not yet! We haven’t even started! Now you!” Donut spun to point at the tall man, the bracelets around his wrists jingling with the movement.

The man shrugged. “‘m Maine.”

Donut turned to Delta, who attempted to smile at the others as they focused on him. “My name is Delta. A pleasure.”

“Connecticut,” the short brunette offered immediately. Delta relaxed as the competitors, and the cameras, turned to the woman next to him. “Connie, actually. Here to kick ass and make friends.”

“At the same time?” Donut asked. “Ambitious. I like it! And you?”

“I’m Sheila. It’s nice to meet you all.” The woman in green said, smiling. Delta considered her once more; the army green wasn’t necessarily something he would have chosen, but she’d cut it all in angles, with zippers and silver accents. And there was something to be said for one who defaulted to green in their wardrobe. Which of course led to…

“Locus.” Locus introduced himself with a smile that looked like a grimace. Delta winced, hoping he hadn’t looked that bad.

“Excellent! An honor to meet all of you, I assure you. I’m very familiar with your work! Now, let me introduce the challenge!” Donut pulled several folded scraps of paper from his jacket pocket. Each sported a name on the outside. “Your challenge will be to design formal clothes based on one of the seven deadly sins. Since there are eight of you, there will be one duplicate, but it shouldn’t be a problem.” He plucked out each paper and handed it to the assigned artist. Delta gingerly unfolded the one with his name on it and frowned. He’d been hoping for Pride. He could work with this, certainly, but… suits had a certain quality that could be stylishly tweaked towards arrogance. Delta wanted to maintain a bit of class, and it could be easy to lose that depending on which model he received.

“For our version of Project Runway, we’re going to mix it up a bit: not only will you be designing for a prompt, you will have a specific model in mind.” Donut raised the two envelopes and rustled their contents. “So without further ado, let’s start introductions! Come get your models.”

The model drawing went quickly. Maine went first, receiving someone called North. Church was paired with a model named Caboose, while Niner would be working with South. Delta wondered if her name had anything to do with Maine’s model. Grey’s model called herself Kimball; Locus earned himself high praise from Donut and a fervent wish of good luck from the cameraman for snagging someone named Felix. Sheila would design for Tex, and Connecticut’s model was named Carolina. One by one the designers left the room to find the breakroom and their model, and begin designing.

“And last but not least?” Donut offered Delta the envelope. He fumbled for the lone scrap of paper at the bottom.

“York,” he read.

“Lucky you! He’s a charmer,” Donut said. “He’s probably by the coffee maker in the break room.”

How oddly specific. Delta thanked him and, tablet in hand, went to find York.

Maine and someone who was presumably North lingered at the entrance of the break room; Delta waved and walked by. Sure enough, a man in his late twenties stood by the coffee machine. His tailored khaki slacks accented the line of his muscular legs, including a rather nice backside, even for a model. Someone had polished his brown leather shoes so that they nearly sparkled. Yet his disheveled button-up suggested that York wasn’t one to follow through on a look, and that worried Delta a bit. He cleared his throat.

“Oh, hi.” Smiling, the model set down his cup and offered his hand. “I’m York. You must be my designer?”

“Delta,” he said. He shook the outstretched hand. York had a solid grip; Delta’s hand came back smelling faintly of vanilla.

“Nice to meet you, Delta. Want any coffee? This pot’s just about done.”

“Thank you, but no,” Delta said. His fingers twitched toward his pendant. He shoved them toward his pocket instead. “I was hoping we could discuss the challenge, perhaps in the conference room?” York looked mournfully at the coffee machine. Delta sighed. “You can bring your drink with you.”

York grinned. “I think I’m going to like working with you.” He drummed long fingers against the counter. “So, how long have you been designing?”

“In fashion? Two years,” Delta said. 

“So you’re kind of new. What brought you over?” York asked.

“I decided that I preferred the architecture of clothing to that of buildings,” Delta said. “It’s a far more expressive medium.”

The coffee machine beeped. York turned to tend to it, saying, “Well, you’re in the right place for it. Though I’m curious to see what you mean by architectural clothing design.”

Delta smiled despite himself. “I’ll show you when you’re ready.”

“Not my fault the pot wasn’t done,” York said. “I need my coffee.” He slopped a measure of milk and two sugars into his drink. “Okay, now I’m ready to listen.”

Maine and North had moved on at this point, so Delta took a seat on one of the couches. York sat on the cushion next to him, close enough that their knees almost touched. “Did Donut tell you about the challenge?” Delta asked.

“Seven deadly sins,” York said. “So which one am I?”

“Lust,” Delta said, swallowing his discomfort. Considering York’s slim-but-muscular frame, he wouldn’t be a bad fit for the prompt. Delta just wasn’t sure he would want to go along with it. 

York chuckled. “Seriously? We got that one?” he asked. “Please tell me you have experience designing lingerie.”

 _”No.”_ Delta felt his cheeks burn with more heat than the coffee. 

This time York threw back his head and laughed. “I’m just messing with you,” he said. “Though I wondered if ‘architectural fashion’ was a euphemism.”

“Absolutely not,” Delta said. He tangled his fingers in his pendant--not intentionally, but the touch did steady him.

“All right, I’m sorry!” York said, still laughing. “Tell me what you do design, then.”

“Professional menswear,” Delta said immediately.

“I guess we can work that,” York said. “I mean, I’ve heard the ladies love a man in a suit, but isn’t this contest about innovating?”

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Delta said. He tapped his design pad awake. “Here’s what I’m thinking. The costume will start with the silhouette of a three-piece suit.” Scribbling with his pen, he traced a very rough figure.

Looking up, he caught York frowning. “You don’t like it?” he asked.

“You’re drawing in green,” York pointed out. “Green is envy’s color. You might be able to get away with it for greed--which is yellow, for gold I guess, but green is for money, right? But… Lust is blue.”

Delta caught himself before he groaned. “Sorry. I’ll use blue,” he said, switching the ink color. “May I continue?”

“Sure. Sorry,” York said. He scooted closer in order to see better. This close, Delta smelled coffee and vanilla even stronger than before. 

“Well, my idea is to get rid of the shirt almost entirely,” Delta said. “But I haven’t seen you shirtless yet, so I’m not sure which parts to cut.”

“Yet?” York laughed. “That’s a bit forward.” 

Delta flushed, about to backtrack, but York beat him to the punch by beginning to unbutton his shirt. “What. Are. You. _Doing?_ ” Delta hissed.

York tilted his head. “Well, the sooner you see, the sooner you’ll know what you’re working with,” he said. “Besides, you’ll have to get my measurements sooner or later.”

“Fine, but keep your pants on,” Delta snapped.

York waggled his eyebrows at him but conceded. Pulling off his shirt revealed a torso that better fit a swimmer than a weight lifter. Probably a casual athlete. His smooth pecs and a slightly rippling six-pack were nothing out of the ordinary, Delta decided. Those arms, though: the strong curve of those deltoids, the definition in his biceps, and even the muscular taper in his forearms? Those, he could work with.

“Okay,” Delta said. “Here’s what I’m thinking. We keep the buttoned cuffs at the wrists, but lose everything else.”

“You want me half-naked for a fashion contest?” York asked. “That’s a bit forward. And not quite the winning way.”

“You won’t be half-naked,” Delta said. “You’ll be wearing a vest. Possibly something with half sleeves. I’m thinking more of a corset shape, possibly with cutout panels here along your shoulders.” His stylus flicked across the tablet as he talked. 

York watched, a faint smile on his face. “You want me in a corset, huh? Well, you’re the genius here,” he said. “I’m just here to look good. But it sounds good to me.”

“Really?” Delta asked. York nodded. “Then let’s get you measured and I can start.”

***

Late that afternoon, Delta had settled in the studio with his fabric and his design pad. Per York’s request, he had opted for blue-gray wool as the vest’s primary color. Finding the same color striped with white accents had confirmed the choice; Delta was willing to admit a certain weakness for pinstripes. Pair those in a vest with matching slacks, and York would be a knockout on the runway.

“Hello, designers!” Donut allowed himself into the studio with a flourish. “Your models will be here for a fitting in ten minutes. Get to a good stopping point!”

Delta scowled down at his schematic. The vest stood pinned on the form; he had only just finished arranging the pieces the way he wanted them. Why had he insisted on pinstripes? No matter how good they might look, lining them up had been a pain, and he wouldn’t have time to stitch everything together before York arrived.

And arrive York did, with a slam of the doors and a tray full of Starbucks. As he passed Connie, she narrowed her eyes at him and pointed at the tray, then at the flowing lavender material on her dummy. York obligingly slowed to a walk and pulled the tray close to his chest, away from any sensitive projects.

“Hey. Brought you food.” York put the tray down at the end of the table, far from the material Delta had stockpiled on his shelves. Delta mentally thanked him: York’s coffee habit would not be a danger to him, not with his designs either on his tablet or tacked to the wall. All the same...

“Coffee isn’t food,” Delta said. He bit his lip and returned to his dummy, pinning the edges of the silk lining around the wool. “And I can’t fit you right now. Even if I have to re-fit things, this has dozens of pieces. I’ll never get it back together nicely if I don’t stitch it now.”

“Fine,” York said. Delta could hear the eyeroll. “Then I’ll go get takeout. Any requests?”

“No Asian food. Connie will stab you if you bring in something with sauce. You’re already pushing your luck with the coffee.” Delta put his tablet on the shelf and began to remove the pins holding the vest to the form. “For that matter, nothing greasy. No liquids. Preferably something that’s quick to eat?”

“Yes, your majesty,” York grumbled. “There’s a bodega down the block. Are sandwiches ok?”

Delta nodded, squinting down at the pinning for the corset shape.

York cleared his throat. “What, now you don’t care what the sandwich is?”

“Oh. Turkey. With avocado if they have it.” Delta considered, then added, “And mustard if they don’t.”

“Okay--”

“No, mustard stains, butter if they don’t.”

York laughed. “Yes, your majesty. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I might be in the sewing lab,” Delta said. “And York?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” He didn’t need looking after--not that that’s what York was doing. Well, not normally, anyway. He might have worked through dinner had his model not intervened.

They made a good pair, he thought.

***

Delta yawned, stretching. York watched, spinning idly in his chair. “You want any?” He raised one hand, holding up his third Starbucks cup of the night.

“No,” Delta said, wanting to reach for the coffee as he said it. “I need steady hands right now. Can you-- do something?”

“I’ll get the lights.” York pushed off from one of the workspaces, propelling him towards the lightswitch. The other designers had cleared out for the night; there would be more time to work the next day, but Delta knew that if he stopped now he would lose the mindset that connected him to this project. He’d need to at least cut, pin, and fit the pants before he could sleep.

Technically, York didn’t need to be there either, but he claimed to be too lazy to leave. He’d been drinking coffee and playing phone games for hours, ever since he’d returned with their sandwiches.

York hit the lightswitch, and the room flooded with light. Delta blinked, startled by the jump from his desklight to the bright ceiling lights.

“That good?”

“Much better, thank you.” Delta nodded. Now he could use the machine’s light for small details instead of an overall view. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He yawned again. Dammit.

York scooted his chair back over to Delta and pushed the coffee across the table toward him, but Delta shook his head. York shrugged. “So, don’t you wanna know how I know about the seven deadly sins’ colors? Most people ask.”

Delta didn’t really, but he didn’t mind listening. “Go ahead.”

“Internet.”

Delta laughed. Moving a pin from his project to his pincushion, he turned to look at York more closely.

“Really! It’s pretty cool, actually. They all have different colors. Some of them you could guess, like green for envy and red for wrath. But then there’s stuff like gluttony, which is orange, and--like, they’ve all got animals associated with them? And, for example, wrath is bears, which makes sense. And gluttony’s associated with...”

Delta looked up from the sewing machine, and York gestured for him to guess. “Pigs?”

York threw his hands up. “Exactly! Makes total sense! And pride’s got peacocks, etcetera. But then there’s greed. Guess about greed.” He leaned backward and stretched his legs under the table, a self-satisfied smile on his face. The pedal kept his feet away from Delta’s, though he was aware of them lingering close.

“... A lion? No, wait.” Delta bit his lip. Something that liked shiny things... “Magpies?”

“Nope.” York leaned in, as though the animal associations of vices were a secret they shared. “Frogs.”

“Frogs?!”

“I know!” York laughed, and Delta laughed with him. “I, uh. Watch a lot of TV. Go on the internet a lot. Watch a _lot_ of Mythbusters. I have all this random crap in my head. I should be on Jeopardy. I’d be so badass.”

“What’s the animal for lust?” Delta grinned at him.

York considered, spinning idly in the chair. He kept his feet anchored; it made the motion seem as if Delta were its axis, the focus of his attention. “Well… it shares bulls with wrath, and goats with envy. So lust’s special animal is roosters. Or, I guess...”

“Don’t,” Delta said, but it was too late.

“Cocks!” York crowed, spinning in triumph.

Delta bit his lip to stop from laughing. “Try on the vest. I need to fit it.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Delta threw the vest at York; he nearly dropped it in the process of trying to unbutton his shirt. Pointedly not looking, Delta focused instead on piecing the slacks together.

“Wow,” he heard York say. “So is it perfect? Of course it is, I’m gorgeous all the time.”

Delta rolled his eyes and turned back to the design he’d pinned to the wall to hide his smile. “You are incorrigible. Let me see.” One hand on the table to steady him, he trudged around to the other side. The blue wool had been a good call: it set off the gray of his eyes quite nicely. He still needed the dark blue tie, he noted.

Now, the real issue would be the fitting. Delta could already see that he would have to take each side in almost an inch. At least York filled in the shoulders nicely. Delta had gone with a short “sleeve” but cut large rectangular panels form the front and back, offering a view of those sculpted deltoids and biceps. He caught himself smoothing the top of the sleeve. For fit, he reminded himself, not because he liked the feeling of strong arms through the wool.

“Shoulders look good,” he muttered.

“Of course they do,” York said, flexing. He bent melodramatically to kiss a bicep.

“You are the worst,” Delta told him.

“Hey. I brought you a gross turkey avocado sandwich,” York countered. “I am empirically the best.”

“Just keep talking,” Delta said, shaking his head fondly. “I need something to keep me awake while I fit this.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

***  
The final day of the challenge rushed by in a whir of scissors and sewing machines. Delta spent the hours making the necessary alterations and contemplating the final touches. The outfit lacked something, he knew. Probably involving the buttoned cuffs. The idea that had seemed so useful yesterday now felt flat and uninspired. 

His consultation with Donut didn’t help. “Go back to your sin,” the host encouraged. “How could you make the wrists more provocative?”

Delta looked from Donut to the dress form, considering. “I think I’ll check the accessory wall,” he said.

“Better hurry!” Donut said. “One hour left until your model comes in!”

Delta smiled to himself. He’d just had an idea that York would love.

An hour and a half later, that confidence had fizzled, swallowed in the panic of having a front-row seat on the runway. He sat on the far end, with Connie to his left and Locus just beyond her. Thank goodness for Connie: at least he had one person to chat with instead of staring down the judges on the other side of the runway.

The lights dimmed, cueing everyone to silence. Nobody dared to talk over Donut, who pranced to the entrance of the runway. “Welcome to the runway, designers! You’ve spent the last two days creating a look inspired by one of the seven deadly sins. One of you paragons will be declared tonight’s winner. One of you will go home.”

Donut gestured to the other side of the runway. “Who will be which? It’s up to our lovely judges to decide! This season, Kaikana Grif and Butch Flowers will be our esteemed decision-makers.” The woman in yellow blew kisses--Delta wasn’t sure to whom--while the gentleman with the long braided hair leaned back in his chair and waved. The man to his right, wearing a deep red buttonup paired with an austere crewcut, folded his arms, glaring at Donut with indignation.

“Oh, and tonight’s guest on our runway will be Sarge, thanks to his authority on menswear.” Donut clapped his hands together. “Now that that’s out of the way, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get started!”

Applause died as quickly as it had begun. The first model emerged where Donut had vanished: Niner’s model South strode to the front of the runway in an envy-inspired outfit. She had gone with green, if only in the high-waisted slacks that swished at the woman’s ankles. Niner had screen-printed a white button-up shirt with hundreds of small images. Faces, Delta realized when South grew close enough for him to see. He recognized many of them as celebrities, male and female alike. Niner would never be able to sell the garment, not without issuing royalties. Perhaps that contributed to the theme of envy? More than that, the flashes of gold on her shoes and cufflinks and mostly-obscured bracelets suggested understated wealth. A design after Delta’s own heart, really, and he rather liked seeing it on a woman.

After envy came gluttony--rather, Church’s model Caboose. At the sight of the muscular but spandex-adorned model, Connie groaned aloud. “Niner mentioned it but I didn’t think he would actually do it,” she whispered. “He looks like an underarmor model!”

“It’s a valid aesthetic,” Delta whispered back.

“But look at that body. He’s the opposite of gluttonous,” she said. 

“I’m not sure. That looks like powdered sugar on his front. Do you think that’s intentional?” He tried to be serious, but her little snort of laughter made him smile.

Connie regained control of herself by the time North came forward. Maine’s punk aesthetic well fit the prompt of wrath. While North wore traditional black slacks, the pegged cuffs stuck into steel-toed combat boots. Instead of a traditionally styled button-up, he wore a plaid shirt open low enough to show his abs. A bolo tie held the asymmetrical collar closed at the neck, the main brooch spiked like his belt. One sleeve hung free around his wrist, torn from cufflink to elbow; the other sleeve split open at the shoulder almost completely. Flecks of red and brown (hopefully dye?) marred the red-and-purple pattern. Between that and his black eye makeup, North looked like he had just come from a fight. He paused at the end of the runway to give a smile that was all teeth. Delta shuddered despite himself.

In contrast, Sheila’s interpretation of wrath made Tex look like an animatronic soldier. She too had gone with the pantsuit idea, relying entirely on a silver novelty fabric and prominent seams to create her effect. Delta much preferred Grey’s interpretation of sloth: she had draped Kimball in layer upon layer of black lace. It had a nice funereal effect that made the woman look like she dragged herself, if elegantly, down the runway.

Delta nearly choked when Felix came out on the runway, sporting Locus’s design: a skintight floor-length black gown patterned in dark green lines, with elbow-length gloves in a matching fir green. Around his hips lay a belt of gold coins. The greed aspect of the outfit became even clearer when Felix reached the front of the runway, grinning sharply, and unzipped the front of his dress to reveal a hidden neckline. It was green, and shaped in sharp angles to resemble dollar bills; Felix curtsied to reveal a matching slip.

Next came Connie’s model of pride, and where Kimball had looked tired, Carolina stood tall, scowling out at her audience. Carolina swept onto the runway in a gown of lavender chiffon, a silver circlet perched on her head. The front of the dress draped like a goddess’s chiton; the back flared out in a train. It billowed behind her, matching the diaphanous scarf trailing from her neck. Flecks of silver beadwork accented the cut of the bodice. Similar gray specks highlighted her cheekbones and the corners of her eyes. She looked regal, powerful--like she knew everyone in the room was beneath her.

“I like the silver accents especially,” Delta whispered to Connie, who grinned.

“I tried to go for a Hera sort of style. But… wispy. More fairy-like, you know?”

“And it’s the perfect look for her,” Delta said. “That feminine power. She certainly has the eyes for it.”

Connie grinned and nudged him. “No more talking. Look who’s up!”

York had just stepped out at the end of the runway. Delta had encouraged the makeup stylist to go with smoky eyes. Looking down the runway at him, he was glad he’d made the call: York glanced up at the crowd through heavy lashes, a wicked grin in place. He didn’t walk so much as sashay down the runway, all hips and long limbs and flashing shoes. The vest fit tightly around his chest, pinstripes flashing just above his hips and collarbone and at the very end of the cutaway sleeves. His arms swung with every step, locked in front of him as they were.

Next to Delta, Connie raised her eyebrows, grinning.

York’s wrists were clipped tight together in buckled leather cuffs, linked by a silver clasp. The leather was deep blue, the result of dye Delta had made sure to test personally. York reached the end of the runway still struggling with his cuffs; then he stopped, and Delta sat up. They hadn’t discussed _this_. York grinned crookedly, reaching one finger towards the opposite clasp, pulling it back. One hand clicked free of the clasp, and York looked up towards the audience, smirking in a very clear challenge.

_What are you going to do about it?_

His last glimpse before York disappeared backstage was of extremely well-tailored slacks on a very shapely backside. Delta had never been so grateful for a good pair of pants in his life, nor so proud of his own creation.

Donut dismissed them then so the judges could discuss. Delta wished he didn’t have to be the last one out, but he couldn’t push past the other designers, not with their amused laughs kindling an embarrassed flush. Still, he didn’t want York to leave before he could have a word.

Thankfully, he found York perched on a bench in the lobby, waiting for him. “What was that?!” Delta hissed, poking at one of the cuffs.

“Showmanship,” York grinned at him. “Felix complimented me on it. I think I need to scrub every inch of my skin now.” He toyed with one of the buckles of one of the cuffs on his wrist, his eyes not leaving Delta.

“Stop playing with that,” Delta said. “Here.” Snatching York’s hand up, he undid the buckles himself. “Other hand.”

“You know,” York said, “you never explained to me how you got a pair of these so fast. Did you just have them lying around?”

Delta hadn’t thought his face could flush any more. He grabbed for his pendant, twisting it back and forth in his fingers. “... Shut up, York.”

York laughed. “Yes, your majesty.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Delta said.

York said nothing, just smiled up at him, and Delta wondered how in the world he had ended up with such a partner. Then Donut burst into the hall to announce the judges were ready, and Delta jumped. He’d forgotten about the judging for a moment. How odd.

“Don’t worry,” York said. “You saw us out there. We’ll be fine.”


End file.
